


The First Time...

by Maraceles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maraceles/pseuds/Maraceles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles written for a comment meme.  (Originally posted to LJ)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ...Dean Realized That Sam Wasn't Coming back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Set Post-S5)

There's nothing in particular that sets him off.

Dean is picking his nails on the couch, going back and forth between staring mindlessly at the TV screen and shoving a finger in his mouth, gnawing at a nail bed--it's a nasty habit, one he never got around to breaking, but in a weird way, it's like comfort food, old and familiar. So's the beer by his feet, the one he needs to be careful about, because if it spills all over the carpet, Lisa will have his head. He's not used to that. Motels never gave a damn.

Jean Luc Picard is running his mouth onscreen, and Dean kind of wants to slap him, because even though the guy had been a Borg, everything worked out just fine for him in the end. Dean used to idolize him, Sammy beside him and getting his first experience with a pretty set of words, maybe that's why he went on to be a college-boy with his legalese, but Dean's learned the lie now, knows that even though they both saved the world, Picard gets his ship and his crew and Dean gets...this.

It's bullshit, is what it is, and Dean picks up his beer and waves it at the TV screen, and the last time that had happened, Pestilence was on the loose. Dean was tracking him down, Crowley in the back of his mind because you couldn't ever trust a demon, not ever, no matter how much they smiled and oozed and came through for you, and he says, "Sam, I hate that guy--"

\--and Dean freezes.

The room is silent, empty, and he's never gonna get a response.

Dean puts down the beer, and Jean Luc keeps on pontificating, getting up in Q's face now, and Q is going to back down, is going to give in, and Sam's not going to say, "You know they subverted the script there, Dean," and he's not going to say, "That's an interesting point," and Sam won't point at Riker and say, "I hate that guy's beard," and Sam's not going to say anything at all, never again, at least not to Dean.

Dean looks down at his fingers, swipes one nail under the white of another, and there's nothing there, no dirt, no blood, no ectoplasm. He's just twitching away, nothing but reflexes left, and they're not needed anymore, they're just old neurons too dumb to give up the ghost.

He keeps on picking. There's nothing else left.


	2. ...That Sam Bakes A Pie

Sam has a whole bunch of pecans. There's molasses in a jar, corn syrup in a bottle, and a bag of sugar on the countertop. He's got a dozen eggs, and maybe the fridge isn't working really well--or you know, at all--but he read somewhere that they last a month when left without refrigeration, so he figures a couple of days will cut it just fine.

He should have known better.

It all goes downhill, he just can't get it right--the syrup spills all over the countertop, the bag of sugar gets soaked, and he doesn't even want to think about the eggs. Some of the whole weird mix ends up in the pie crust, which itself was good, the fine product of Betty Crocker and mass produced foods. But the mix sits in the oven, and it never solidifies. He pokes at it, he prods at it, he leaves it alone for an hour, maybe even two, and it never even gets as firm as jello.

"Please tell me I'm hallucinating," a voice says behind him, and Sam cringes inwardly. Okay, maybe even outwardly, his shoulders hunching down and his head ducking, but he straightens up immediately, because damn is he giving Dean the satisfaction.

But what is he supposed to do, take his hands and swipe them over the tabletop? Pretend like it's a desk and the mess is nothing but paperwork, and he's about to press Dean down and have his way with him on the hard surface?

Well.

It's not exactly a bad idea.

"This is the most pathetic thing I've ever seen," Dean tells him, but then his hands are on Sam's hands, and they're moving together, and maybe Sam doesn't need to make a pie after all. Dean knows that Sam loves him just fine.


	3. ...That Sam Said Dean's Name

Sam didn't say a damn thing as a one year old. He didn't say anything when he was two either; he just pointed his chubby fingers at something, and there Dean went, an arrow from a bow, a rock from a slingshot, and Dean would have it in his five- and then six-year-old hands, now a golden-retriever doing what he did best.

"Arf," Dean said, the toy in his mouth, and John would laugh down at him--not that Dean remembers this, remembers any of it, but it's wired into his soul in ways he couldn't conceive of later, couldn't imagine, him and Sam and doing whatever Sam wanted.

Sam flailed his arms and sat down hard, his point made.

But when Sam was three, Dean was hurt, he couldn't move or smile or even cry, and when Sam pointed, there was no golden retriever, no shooting airplane, not even an angry, fed-up seven-year-old who was too grumpy or tired to play any damned game, and Sam pointed and pointed and no one came.

His cries filled the room, and he wouldn't stop, not even for the toy bear with its eyes falling out, eyes connected by nothing but string. He wouldn't stop, not for the bigger plane that picked him up and swung him around the room. He pointed and he cried and John finally said, "What do you want, Sammy? You have to tell me what you want--"

\--and Sam, who was three-years-old and already knew his sentences, already knew his words because Dean had showed him the cards and John had quietly spelled them out, pointed to the stairway and said, his voice very soft, almost too quiet to be heard, "I want Dean."

And in all the years that passed, that never changed.


	4. ...Dean Reads The Files "How To Be Human" And "Figuring Out Dean" On Robo!Sam's Computer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Set Post-S6)

How To Be Human  
By Sam Winchester  
Aug 6, 2010

1\. Don't drink all the beer.

2\. Staring at your cousin's breasts is generally frowned upon.

3\. It is not acceptable to use children as bait. No matter how perfectly loud they are. Not even if cougars like them.

4\. No one cares if you don't get caught.

5\. Witnesses do not respond well to you saying, "For just a second, pretend we're not talking about your Dad..." when you're investigating their father's murder. The same goes for the wife, daughter, son, cousin, uncle, aunt, grandfather, grandmother, and Ralph the dog.

6\. It's okay to ask about missing goldfish, though.

7\. Cats are iffy.

8\. Don't talk about your brother all the time. People think it's weird.

9\. Except women. They like having sex with you when you talk about Dean. It "shows that you care." Or something.

10\. For god's sake, don't talk to Samuel about Dean.

11\. Don't stare at Lisa in the grocery store. People will call the cops.

12\. People will also call the cops if you watch Dean at Ben's school.

13\. Or if you stand outside of Dean's house.

14\. Or his window.

15\. Do not climb a tree to look into Dean's room as he sleeps. That does not end well for anyone.

16\. Remember that Dean is not in danger.

17\. Keep it that way.

~

Dean had meant to hit up "Busty Asian Beauties."

"Oookay," he says slowly, and quietly, he reads.

~

Figuring Dean Out  
By Sam Winchester  
December 3, 2010

1\. Dean will do anything for you, even if you accidentally turn him into a vampire.

2\. Dean does not like fairies. Unless they have big breasts.

3\. Dean believes you when you say you don't think about him.

4\. Coffee does not really cheer Dean up.

**5\. Dean will kill you.**

6\. Dean misses that other guy.

7\. No matter what you do, Dean will never love you back.

~

"You got that right, Poindexter," Dean mutters under his breath, and he highlights the icons on the screen. After a few more button-clicks, a grey window pops up. _Delete?_ it asks.

"Damn straight," he tells it, and then he jumps out of bed, grabs his keys. They're two hours out of Kalamazoo, it's still early, and Sam sleeps like the dead. Dean stares down at him, resisting the urge to smooth the hair away from Sam's forehead, and he doesn't know why, and he doesn't know how, but for the first time in a long time, he feels happy.

Dean shakes off the feeling. He should really get the kid some food.


End file.
